


Rebel Rebel

by DeathByJumpingFrenchman



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - High School, Eddie is Radio Rebel, M/M, Radio DJ AU, Radio Rebel AU, Richie has a band, Richie is oblivious, Self Confidence Issues, but it's a bomb ass movie so watch it anyway?, lots of stanlon too bc im weak, no pettywhistle, rlly gay, strong eddie kaspbrak, you don't need to watch radio rebel to understand
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-21 13:49:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13742250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathByJumpingFrenchman/pseuds/DeathByJumpingFrenchman
Summary: Small, gay, well-mannered Eddie Kaspbrak has a secret. More specifically, a secret identity. By day, he stays quiet and hangs out with the self-proclaimed Losers Club, but by night, he's the smooth talking anonymous DJ 'Radio Rebel'. The genius part of it all? No one would ever suspect it.Only now, Eddie's long time crush Richie Tozier is in the picture, and there's more at stake than just his podcasted radio show.*Or, a Radio Rebel AU that wouldn't leave me alone where Eddie is tired of being labeled as weak, Richie is tired of Greta Bowie, and their high school principle is tired of the anarchy Eddie is inducing.





	1. you've got your mother in a whirl

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! This one's been bugging me for months.  
> I'm a sucker for old Disney Channel original movies, and Radio Rebel is a gem. You absolutely don't need to watch it to understand this, though. Idk, let me know what you think.  
> (It's mentioned here that Eddie's been taken in by his aunt, because I say so and because I couldn't resist adding in a Joyce Byers cameo)  
> Fic and chapter titles from David Bowie's 'Rebel Rebel'.  
> Enjoy!

Eddie flipped on his earmuffs. He checked the voice modifier. He took a deep breath.  _ Here we go again _ he thought as he hit ‘ Record’ . 

He supposed it was stupid. A bunch of idealistic bullshit, which it kind of was. But… there was just something so tempting about sounding like a bit of a smartass anonymously.

“This is Radio Rebel coming at you live from the underground,” Eddie felt something warm slide over him. He smiled as he felt it sink into his skin, felt himself becoming comfortable, for once, hidden inside his own skin. “You don’t know who I am, but I know who you are. Because I’m one of you,” this part always felt the best to Eddie. Hiding in plain sight, the thrill of it was intoxicating. He could speak his mind, he could play music and talk to people and be himself, without anyone actually knowing it was him. It felt as good as telling a secret, and it didn’t sting nearly as much. 

“Before we get to a Bowie mix I made when I was bored off my ass in English, I just wanted to tell you how bullshit the report cards that came out today at Lincoln Bay are. So what if I don’t want to dress like I’m from the 1950’s? A low participation grade for short shorts, that sucks ass.” Eddie smiled. He was angry, yeah, but that's where his best stuff tended to come from. “But it’s not just the teachers, is it? Guys, we all talk shit about the school staff for putting us into boxes and shutting us down, but I thought, since grades were being handed out, I’d let you all know that it’s not just the teachers who fuck us over by judging us.”  _ Delicate _ , ran a tangent thought through Eddie’s head. _ Fairy boy in the short shorts _ . “Jocks, outcasts, dorks, the pops, the gays,” Eddie took a sharp breathe from between his teeth. “We’re all so quick to judge. And, obviously, people get hurt by that. You’re you. You’re not some perfect mix of qualities that make you one thing, neither are your best friends, neither are you classmates, neither am I.” Eddie spun in his chair and sighed. “I do it too guys, sorry this turned into a tangent, I promise I’m not trying to lecture. We all have a power to change things, that’s all I wanted to remind you.” Eddie rolled his chair around in lazy circles. “Talk to the kid with the remote control car. Invite him to soccer tryouts. Ask the stoners for help on your math homework. Actively change the status quo,” he spun once more before stopping and planting his feet determinedly. “I dare you.” Eddie paused. “And I get it. Not everyone can do that right away. But this next song is what inspires me to try a little bit every day. Hope you guys like it.” With that, Eddie lowered the headset mic and spun once more to his computer, selecting the song. The opening riff to ‘Rebel Rebel’ filled his bedroom. He smirked at his own joke. 

He loved this. This was his life, and for the first time in a while, he really, really loved it. This was his music, his advice, his show. Here, he could be himself. 

Admittedly, at first he had been unsure. His music taste wasn’t eclectic or cool or obscure or anything people really tended to enjoy in a radio program. He listened to a strange mix of classic rock, even classic-er rock, and ‘80s pop. He didn’t know much about music either. He could clumsily play a few notes on the piano, (the remnants of lessons his mother had scheduled in his heavily drowsed childhood that he resented and shuddered at the thought of), but that was it. 

All of this, he had thought, would lead to a flop of a podcast, so he had let the idea sit on the backburner. That had, however, been before the first day of Junior year, when Eddie had returned from the summer after coming out the last day of Sophomore year. 

It wasn’t that he had gotten pushed into a locker or been beat up behind the school like the movies might have suggested. Instead, people treated him like he was breakable, timid and quiet. He was just so done with the soft stares and even softer words, spoken to him as if people thought that if their straightness was even a smidge louder, he would shatter. What was worse, his new sense of retrospect had given him an almost superhuman ability to see those around him struggling. 

He couldn't help but see that even within friend groups, stereotypes prevailed. Ditzy blondes and rude jocks filled his thoughts for months, and it was little things that caused him to throw caution (and his fears of his music taste being inadequate) to the wind. He would give his advice and try to make a difference, even if no one would listen. What came to surprise Eddie was that it actually worked. His podcasted radio show, _Radio Rebel_ , had caught on and, though Eddie wasn’t sure how, a significantly large portion of his school _(and other schools in the area? What the hell?)_ listened to him every Tuesday and Thursday night. 

He danced around with silly kicks and shimmying shoulders to the music playing from his computer, another show successfully recorded and broadcasted live, and began to gather his homework, set out his clothes, and get ready for school the next morning. 

Though he had started this whole show because of the bitter taste school had put in his mouth, it was heartwarming to hear people listen to his advice, or to at least try to. He felt (in the moments he was walking through the school, seeing his words rippling back and forth between friends old and new and hearing his clueless band of loser friends debate the illustrious Radio Rebel’s identity) like a spy in the old films he and Ben had watched over the summer when the rest of their friends had been busy. So yeah, he was excited for school, excited to see that from behind an unknown persona, he was making a difference, and excited to spend time with his friends, who he loved with everything he had. 

This excitement for school, Eddie found once more hours later as he stood by his locker with Mike and Bill at his sides. 

“Ruh-Radio Rebel was a-awesome last night,” Bill said, leaning against the locker and sighing. 

“I know! Bowie’s my absolute favorite,” Mike was smiling now too, the curve of his lips around his words giving him the appearance of sunshine and of sunflowers. (Eddie, of course, knew that his best friend loved David Bowie-it was one of the reasons why the man’s music had become a regular part of Eddie’s rotation). 

“I don’t know,” Eddie said, hiding a smirk, “Wasn’t their advice a bit... idealistic? ‘Change the status quo’ is harder than it sounds.” Eddie was constantly undercover to find what he could do in order to make Radio Rebel universal and unbiased and, most of all,  _ true _ . 

Mike gasped. Bill’s eyes bulged. 

“What? Of cuh-course not!” Bill declared, puffing his chest out and looking personally affronted 

“Maybe they aren’t realistic, but they’re  inspirational. So what if it’s hard? Rebel’s doing a good thing.” Mike, instead of defending the school’s favorite radio DJ as he had done in the past, smiled down at Eddie with a spark lit up in the corner of his eye. His smile was playful, but it almost made Eddie wonder… no, Mike didn’t know. Of course he didn’t. Nobody would ever suspect the cool, relatable Radio Rebel to be the small Gay Kid who didn’t seem to fit anywhere. Most people actually thought Rebel was a girl, much to Eddie’s chagrin and pleasure. The voice modifier worked miracles. So no. Mike wasn’t acting any out of the ordinary. Everything was perfectly normal, and Eddie was projecting.

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed distractedly. “Wish I could be more like them.” 

Bill and Mike shared a look.

“W-well,” Bill said, kicking up fear within Eddie’s chest. He couldn’t know anything, none of them could. 

“Bill and I have been talking,” Mike’s voice was soft as he laid a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, but instead of sounding condescending, his voice was comforting in an understanding way. “We think you should talk to your aunt.” 

“My aunt?” Eddie questioned, looking from one of his best friends to the other. 

“Eh-ever since you’ve been living with her, yuh-you’ve suh-seemed more confident.” Bill explained, looking a bit uncomfortable and glancing at Mike, who was the best out of all of them at giving advice without making a person feel small. 

“We thought it might help you to get a job at Slam. The two of you could spend time there together.” Eddie couldn’t deny that every interaction he had with his aunt (and the owner of Slam FM Radio) Joyce made him feel just the slightest bit more solid, the slightest bit more real. But a job at Slam, one of the biggest radio stations in Seattle? He was already so busy with his own show. 

(A small voice whispering,  _ delicate, you’re my delicate boy _ , the slick slide of honey down his throat, something in the middle of it all, the recognizable bump of a pill in its sugar coating, bird bones enclosed in human skin-)

“I don’t know,” Eddie said instead, “It’s pretty hard to get a job there.”

“But yuh-you’re pretty talented.” Bill said, bumping his shoulder against Eddie’s with a reassuring smile that had made their whole group fall in love with him at one point in their lives.

“Just think about it,” Mike said, his forehead creasing. “Your aunt is really good for you.” 

And she was. Eddie knew this, he wasn’t stupid. Ever since his aunt and her sons (one of whom he only saw occasionally due to his status of being away at college) had moved into town, they had taken him in. They had taken him from sticky half swallowed medicine and a drugged dredging summer that had seeped its way into Eddie’s pores like sap to a tree, (so slowly and so entirely that he could think of nothing else), and had given him a strength he’d never known was possible. The immense gratitude he felt, as well as his unsureness, well, that only created a thicker barrier from them. In this reverence there was hesitance, and in all hesitance there is fear. 

“I’ll think it over,” Eddie said finally, looking around at the people who could care about him without making him feel breakable, letting a smile flit across his face, small and genuine as he reached up to bring his two towering friends down for a hug. 

“How can you even  _ think  _ in a time like this!” Beverly’s voice broke through their touching moment as she and Ben walked up, completing the group of five best friends. 

“We’re so close!” Ben said, and Eddie bit back an inappropriate joke. That wasn’t supposed to be him. He wasn’t funny, at least, he never had been to anybody else but himself and his cousins. 

“Radio Rebel revealed the biggest clue about their identity yet!” Bev squealed, taking Eddie’s hand and spinning him in a circle. 

“Stop it Beverly,” he said through stern laughter, “What do you mean?” 

“In last night’s show! Did you even listen? Minute 0:27, Radio Rebel goes to our school!” Ben was positively glowing and it made Eddie feel warm all over to know his small mishap had caused that happiness. “They could be anyone all around us!” 

“It could be,” Eddie put a hand to his chin and tilted his head, “Mr. Dennis. Or, no! I bet it’s Principle Marino!” Mike laughed at his sarcastic tone and slung his arm around his best friend. 

“I-if you kuh-keep that up Ben’s gonna get an aneurysm,” Bill said, linking his arm with Ben’s unoccupied one. 

“This is serious guys!” Ben huffed as they began to walk to Bev's locker, located farther down the hallway in a different clump. “What if I like, spill my drink on them at lunch or something? I don’t want the whole school to hate me,” he bit his lip as if he considered that to be a very real possibility. 

“Benny, it’s literally impossible for anyone to hate you,” Bev said fiercely. 

“You’re so sweet Ben, nobody'd do that to you.” Eddie really hoped Rebel didn’t come across as a person who’d rat someone out to the rest of the school for something so small. 

“Ugh, wuh-would you look at that?” The friends were diverted from Ben’s plight as Bill pointed across the hallway where Greta Bowie was standing with her lackeys, chatting and batting her eyelashes in a way that just screamed  _ fake  _ as she kicked Josh Halkin’s book from where it had fallen from his hands, like the book was nothing and Josh was even less. If there was something Eddie absolutely could not stand, it was a sense of hierarchy. And, okay, as much as he preached open mindedness, he was loyal most of all, and Greta had been so horrible to each one of his friends in so many ways that Eddie found it inexcusable. This was just a sick reminder of it, and Eddie felt a fire high up in his chest that pushed him to walk in her direction at the same time Bev did. 

Eddie could feel the other three following at a slower pace and looked over to Beverly, seeing the same fire on her face as he felt within himself. 

“What’re you doing?” Ben called, causing Bev to turn around and Eddie to turn his head over his shoulder. 

“What Radio Rebel told us to do,” she responded, taking Eddie’s arm and squeezing. 

“Let’s see how far ‘idealistic’ will get us,” Eddie said, feeling less and less sure about himself by the ticking seconds, but soon he and Bev were standing right in front of Greta and her friends, who giggled meanly behind their hands as if they knew something Eddie and Bev didn’t.

“Well, well, well,” Greta said, her voice pinched as if she was talking through her nose, “What do we have here?” She raked her eyes up and down Eddie and Bev. 

“We saw what you just did to Josh,” Bev said, and Eddie bit back a bit of fond annoyance at his ability to cut straight to the chase, no preamble necessary. “It was kinda rude, don’t you think?” Bev’s voice was sickeningly sweet, her eyes glinting dangerously. 

“Oh, wanna fuck him too, do you Marsh? The other four aren’t enough for you?” Eddie gritted his teeth, breathless fury boiling at the base of his throat. 

“Excuse me?” he bit out, causing the heads of everyone in the opposing groups to turn to him. He wiped his palms on his shorts. Why was he nervous now? He wasn’t anxious with his friends when he went to make a sassy remark, and he wasn’t when he was in his bedroom speaking into a microphone. “W-what did you just, what did you just say to her?” Greta looked a smallest bit surprised. Eddie doubted they’d spoken to one another since seventh grade. “You can’t just,” he whipped his head from side to side nervously, “Just say that! Jesus, what the hell is wrong with everyone at this school?”

"Hm," Greta hummed, tilting her head to the side. "This Rebel Rabble," Bev mumbled 'Radio Rebel' in correction under her breath as she looked at Eddie in gratefulness and awe, "Is making sickly nobodies think they can talk to us."

"Hey!" Mike stepped forward, his brave, broad chest high and his kind demeanor twisting into something angry. "Don't talk about by friends like that!" Eddie's teeth ground together once more as Ben and Bill stepped forward as well to defend him, and Bev reached out to grab his hand, because despite the fact that his friends never made him feel delicate, their protective nature sometimes made it hard for him to appear strong to others.

That didn't stop him from being grateful to all of them, but especially Mike in that moment, who, as the school's star quarterback, held the most respect among their friend group with the rest of the school and caused Greta to back off with a small 'whatever'.

"Let's go girls," she said, whipping around and flipping her hair like she was the mean girl in a silly movie as she walked away from the school's resident losers.

"Fuck off asshole," Eddie said as he glared daggers into Greta Keene's retreating form, though Greta was a bit too far away to be within earshot. Beverly snorted, and with a sad smile, Eddie realized that once more, his friends had come to his rescue. When, he wondered, would it be the other way around?

 

* * *

 

 

“ What is up my dudes, this is Trashmouth Tozier of  _ The 69ers _ ,” Richie’s loud voice rang out as he focused his video camera (large and vintage from the late ‘80s because Richie was Edgy like that) on Stan, who was standing at his locker, getting his books out. 

“That’s not our name,” Stan deadpanned as he turned around. 

“Yeah, I know Mr. Lead Singer Big Shot, but I thought it might be time for an upgrade,” Richie said as he balanced the bulky camera and went to throw an arm over Stan’s shoulders. 

“An upgrade in a lead guitarist, maybe,” Stan grumbled, causing Richie to turn the camera clumsily around to capture his face within the frame as he threw his head back in a bout of raucous laughter. 

“Oh, Stan the Man gets off a good one!” Richie’s glasses dangled a bit crookedly from his face, and his hair was mused into wild curls, and these two things matched with the disgruntled and slightly windblown looking nature of his shirt (which was brightly patterned and buttoned wrong) gave him the distinct appearance of always looking breathless. Perhaps this was what gave him the feeling of always being on the edge, and maybe it was what made him feel as if he was at the precipice of a personality. 

“Shut up Richie,” Stan mumbled, shrugging Richie’s arm from off of his shoulders. 

“What’d we talk about, Staniel,” Richie said, wrapping his body lankily around the camera to show off a self satisfied grin, the glint in his eyes refracting in his coke bottle lenses. Stan only heaved out an exasperated sigh, his face taking on a sour pinch. “Go on, say it!” 

“Hi, we’re  _ Fight or Flight _ , and we’re gonna tear up prom,” Stan began and tapered off, wincing and shaking his head, as if wondering why he had become friends with Richie in the first place, “Just like Richie tore up your mom last night.” Richie let out large guffawing laughs. 

“Would’ya look at that! Stanny’s really got it in him!” Stan put his head in his hands, and removed it a second later to turn to the camera. 

“I lost my dignity for twenty dollars.” Richie laughed nonetheless. 

“Twenty dollars well spent!” he hollered, and before Stan could release the cutting remark that sat on his tongue, Greta was strutting up to them. 

“Hiya Richie,” she giggled, a fake little thing that was too high in pitch to sit right with Richie, “Hi Richie’s camera,” Stan cleared his throat, and Greta turned, her face flashing disdain before molding back up into positivity. “Uris.” 

Richie rolled his eyes. Greta, he knew, was a certified bitch. He wasn’t stupid. He knew about how she bullied Stan in middle school. He knew she’d trashed the yearbook club’s classroom because the student editor had had the guts to tell her to shove it. He saw how she treated everyone in school, and Richie hated it. What made his blood boil nearly more than anything else, though, was the particular fixation she had on a specific band of students, a group of self proclaimed Losers. It wasn’t like Richie would ever admit it, but for the past year and a half, he’d been getting closer to the, again self proclaimed, Losers Club, and he liked to consider at least some of them to be his friends. 

And then there was the case of Eddie Kaspbrak, but Richie tried his very hardest not to think about that. Greta had been a bitch to him for years upon years, though Richie didn’t know how anyone could do anything other than respect the guy. 

“What do you want Greta?” he asked, his voice flat. 

“Just to say hi,” she giggled, twisting her hair around her finger with something dangerous glinting in her eyes. “Come on girls.” 

With that, she crooked her finger and had her friends trailing behind her. Richie shut off the camera. 

“I don’t know what the fuck her problem is,” he muttered as he walked over to Stan. He looped his arm casually around Stan’s shoulders, because while Stan pulled away mockingly and made a face as if to tell Richie he was disgusted by him, Richie knew his best friend appreciated the contact every once in a while. 

“Yeah, yeah, you have a massive friend crush on the Losers Club,” Stan said, rolling his eyes with a fond smile. Richie scoffed, affronted. 

“They gave themselves an iconic name, they take no shit, and they’re just as obsessed with Radio Rebel as we are!” he gushed. 

“As  _ you _ are,” Stan muttered. Richie went on, ignoring him. 

“And don’t act like you aren’t head over heels for Mike Hanlon,” Richie said, smacking his lips together to making over exaggerated kissing noises. 

“Beep  _ beep _ , Tozier.” Stan said as they walked to the pre-calc class they shared first period, his cheeks tinted pink. Richie laughed at the familiar phrase and nudged his best friend fondly. Stan had English with Mike Hanlon, the school quarterback and founder of the art club. The boy was one of the sweetest people in the school, and Stan tended to talk about him non-stop on days when he had English class. 

The two boys continued on their way, joking with each other and feigning annoyance. They had been best friends for years, and while they got on each others' nerves often, they had each others’ backs. 

As they passed by the losers, Richie’s eyes were drawn to the figure of Eddie Kaspbrak, whose arms were moving all around in a way that spoke of a passionate conversation. Richie smiled a bit, and tore his gaze away. 

With lingering thoughts of Eddie in his head, he turned back to Stan, who was pulling up last night’s Radio Rebel broadcast. Stan offered his an earbud, which he readily took, searching for a distraction. 

As the distinctive filtered voice of Rebel drifted into one ear and the precalculus classroom loomed at the end of the hall, Richie glanced over at his best friend, the comforting weight of normalcy settling down on him.

_ Just a normal day _ , Richie thought to himself, smiling at Rebel’s words.

Little did he know just how much could change in one day. 

 


	2. you like me and i like it all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A class project is introduced and our story truly begins  
> -  
>  _"“My dear Beverly,” he began in an off kilter British accent, “Of course I must! Now, who have we here?” he glanced at Mike, situated to his left. “Mikey boy, I’ve heard all about you-” he winced, likely suffering a kick to the leg from Stanley under the table. “And Eddie Kaspbrak, as I live and breathe.”"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry this took so long, hope the wait was worth it!   
> Thanks to everyone who commented/left a kudos/just read this in general.   
> Love you guys!  
> (cross-posted on tumblr)

Eddie loved Mike. He wasn’t his oldest friend, but he was the person who Eddie trusted more than anything, and he was a bright spot in every day Eddie spent with him. Eddie wasn’t attracted to Mike, no, they were far too close for that, but he loved him more than anything. 

Which was to say that at the moment, as Eddie sharpened his pencil in his handhold contained sharpener to the point of broken lead, his teeth grinding into each other and his eyes dead set and angry, that Mike was being exceptionally annoying. 

They were in advanced English, one of the only classes in the school to be considered AP (not enough funding or something like that which Eddie couldn’t really understand when the school blew out thousands to renovate the sports fields), which was a class Eddie liked well enough. He thought it was interesting all the different interpretations people found from subtext and diction, but today, every second of the class was scrutinizingly unbearable, and it was all Mike Hanlon’s fault. 

Well, that might have been a bit dramatic. It was Stanley Uris’ fault too. 

The three of them sat at a table together, their English classroom going with a conversational layout of desk clusters that served to prompt group cooperation, which was the work of luck on most days due to the productive nature of the three boys, but today it seemed like the work of a vengeful God, because Mike and Stan could not stop flirting with each other. 

Now, Eddie had nothing against the idea of the two of them. He knew Mike had been infatuated with the boy all year, and from the way Stan looked at Mike when he thought nobody was watching, Eddie had a pretty good hunch that Stan liked Mike as well. 

“All right guys, what’d you think of last night’s homework?” Eddie asked for the second time, trying to break the two from their low conversation about the author’s use of color in some classic they had both recently read. 

“Lavender, I think,” Mike was saying, his smile light and careful. “He uses lavender to express longing.” 

“Right, yeah, I know! Which is strange, because he talks about longing like it’s so vivid, but lavender is soft!” Eddie could count on two hands how many times he had seen Stan light up the way he currently was around Mike, carefree almost. 

“Painful, even,” Mike agreed, his voice soft and telling. 

Eddie thought it was an incredibly sweet moment, but if they didn’t stop ignoring him soon, he was going to scream. 

“Guys,” be began once again, but before he could finish, Ms. Smith was entering the classroom, her blonde hair pulled up into a bun, smiling like sunshine. Ms. Smith was easily one of the most likable teachers in the school, and had been instrumental to helping Eddie deal with his own identity. She was the leader of the (admittedly small) Lincoln Bay GSA, and while Eddie rarely came to the weekly meetings, he knew he could always go to her for help if he needed it. 

“Good afternoon class!” she beamed, obviously excited about something. “How’s the day been?” An array of groans and pitiful ‘fine’s swept across the classroom. “Today we’re starting,” she drummed her fingers casually along the side of her desk to create a soft drumroll effect, “Our drama unit!” 

Oh. Oh shit. 

Eddie didn’t mind English class, but he  _ definitely _ minded the upcoming drama unit. They were going to be paired up with students from the Drama class to create a Shakespeare interpretation. Eddie’s only hope now was that he’d be assigned as director and wouldn’t have to act at all. 

“Come on in, come on don’t be shy,” in all his wallowing, Eddie hadn’t noticed the arrival of aforementioned drama students, who were now beginning to filter in. 

His mood was brought up when he noticed that Beverly was running straight at him. 

“Eddie!” she said, not quite yelling but not quite talking either. “Mikey!” 

She enveloped both of them in hugs. 

“Long time no see assholes, just lemme pull up a chair.” Soon, Bev was sitting to Stan’s left across from Eddie, raising a hand and offering it to Stan to shake. “You’re Stanley, right?” Stan smiled, and Mike shifted, looking down bashfully as if hoping Bev didn’t let on to the fact that she knew exactly who Stan was due to Mike’s incessant pining. 

“Call me Stan,” he said, smiling, but before they could finish introductions, they were rudely interrupted by the loud screeching of a chair against the floor as someone bumped their way up to the table. 

“Stan the Man didn’t save me a seat, oh how you wound me!” 

And oh. Oh  _ shit _ . 

Richie Tozier was there, sitting at Eddie’s table like he owned the place, his dark hair tousled up around his head like a curly halo, his freckles stark against his skin and his glasses askew in the cutest of ways--

“Bev,” he hissed across the round table as Richie immersed himself in teasing Stan, “You didn’t tell me Richie was in your drama class!” Bev rolled her eyes, leaning over to hiss right back,

“Just talk to him!” Before turning away to look over at the aforementioned boy. “Richie, must you make everything so dramatic?” Richie smiled at her, finally getting around to acknowledging the rest of the occupants of the table. 

“My dear Beverly,” he began in an off kilter British accent, “Of course I must! Now, who have we here?” he glanced at Mike, situated to his left. “Mikey boy, I’ve heard all about you-” he winced, likely suffering a kick to the leg from Stanley under the table. “And Eddie Kaspbrak, as I live and breathe.” 

Eddie and Richie had been in the same Chem class last year, and had been going to school together for maybe five years, and yet hearing the boy’s voice still set something loose in Eddie’s stomach. 

“H-hi Richie,” he said, giving a polite smile before making a show of taking all his supplies from his backpack in order to get ready for class, cursing himself internally. 

_ H-hi Richie’? What the fuck, pull yourself together Kaspbrak.  _

Eddie sat in silence as the rest of the students chattered on, ignoring the burning in his cheeks and the piercing sensation clueing him in on the fact that someone was looking at him. 

Before he knew it, Ms. Smith was in front of the class again, getting their attention and looking down at the paper in her hands. 

“I’m going to be reading out your groups for the project. One of you will be directing, the other two, acting,” she cleared her throat and the Losers (plus Stan and Richie) looked around at each other hopefully, feeling the kind of anxiety that only appears when you just know karma has it out for you and will probably put you in a group with Belch Huggins. 

“Director, Suzanne Quip, actors, Mike Hanlon, Teddy Johnson.” Eddie’s friends sent sad looks around, disappointed none of them were in a group with Mike. Eddie pouted at him a bit for dramatic effect, but Mike, ever the good sport, was smiling. 

“Could be much worse,” he said lowly, though when he looked over at Stan, there was something wistful glinting in his eyes. 

Eddie tuned most of the list out, listening only for his name or the names of his friends. 

“Director, Stanley Uris, actors, Carla Bordeaux, Beverly Marsh.” Stan gave Bev a shy smile from across the table, but Bev was already pitching forward with a hand raised to high five him, a grin lighting up her face. 

“You and me Stan, we’re gonna kill it.” Stan’s smile was softer then, something wholesome and genuine, something that belied a sort of warmth that Beverly brought to those around her, and Eddie found himself thinking that this was the reason people often compared her to fire. 

“Director, Greta Bowie, actors, Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier.” 

And oh.  _ Oh fucking shit _ . 

Eddie had once dropped a match into the snow (and had been grounded for a week for “playing with fire” even though he has just been trying to light a candle and escape the smell of antiseptic from outside), and had been fascinated as the snow had hissed as steam curled up around the match, put out and smoking up into the sky. This reminded him a bit of that. 

From the moment he had heard his name after Greta’s, he had gone cold, his hands freezing up and his heart stuttering a beat, and as soon as he heard Richie’s name after his own, he felt hot all over. Because of course. Of fucking course. 

Richie, it seemed, was focusing on the positive. 

“Yes!” he cheered, perhaps a bit too loud, for the residents of surrounding tables turned to look at him with raised eyebrows. He paid them no mind, instead opting to turn to Eddie, his glasses still adorably askew and his smile not lewd but actually… excited looking? “Eddie Spaghetti, we’re gonna have some fun.” 

He reached out, his hand raised in an imitation of Bev’s previous actions, waiting for a high five. Eddie reached out, but instead of giving him the congratulatory high five, he was lowering the hand away from his face to the table, trying not the let his hand linger too long on Richie’s skin, which was calloused at the edges but soft at the palms. 

“Eddie Spaghetti?” Eddie asked, looking highly unimpressed. 

“Eds Spagheds? Edward Spaghedward?” Richie bantered back, his smile more of a smirk now, cute in a way that twisted something in Eddie’s gut. 

“Okay dipshit, we’re gonna have to work on that,” he said, but he was smiling too as he turned back to Ms Smith, pretending to listen to the rest of the names. 

The rest of the name calling passed agonizingly slow, and when it was done, the class was quick to break into groups, which was how Eddie found himself being pulled by the arm at the mercy of Richie towards Greta, who was looking ahead with a pinched expression. 

“What’s shakin’?” Richie asked, his words friendly though his voice was cold. 

“Richie! We’re working together, can you believe that?” as Greta spoke, she purposefully turned only to Richie, ignoring Eddie completely. 

“I fucking can’t” he said darkly, putting an arm around Eddie that the small boy leaned away from playfully. Greta looked at Eddie now, her eyebrows high on her face in a condescending expression. 

“I’m sure we can find a particularly,” she made a point of looking Eddie up and down “ _ Delicate _ roll. Something to match Richie’s innate masculinity.” Eddie could feel Richie’s hand tighten on his shoulder almost comfortingly. 

Eddie sighed, searching for a comeback, but the energy it was taking to not run out of the room-

( _ he was overwhelmed, so fucking overwhelmed, and Richie was so close to him and he could smell Richie which he found really stalker-esque and weird but he liked it anyway and Greta was looking at him like she knew, knew that Eddie had admired the boy despite thinking he was the strangest person he’d ever met, had admired him from afar for years, had ended up  _ liking _ him _ )

-So he plopped down in his seat, pulling Richie down to sit next to him. 

“Well than. Shall we get started?” Eddie said, his jaw set, looking at Greta straight in the eyes as if challenging her to insult him further. It was Richie’s glare in addition to Eddie’s own that caused her to turn to her paper with an annoyed huff as they began to brainstorm.

As they discussed what they were going to do, Richie came up with more heinous nicknames Eddie found himself wincing at and reprimanding Richie for (though he secretly enjoyed them).

“Shorty?” Richie asked, leaning forward with a glint in his magnified eyes. “Pancakes!” 

“Pancakes?” Eddie deadpanned, confused and attempting to tamper down the smile at the corners of his lips. 

“As in a short stack of ‘em,” Richie said, looking proud of himself. Eddie rolled his eyes. 

“You’re insufferable. I can’t believe I have to work with you all quarter.” Eddie was smiling fully now despite his words, no hiding it, and Richie was grinning from ear to ear in response as Eddie began to blush. 

“Well I for one am happy to have Richie on our team,” Greta said, turning her nose up. Richie stifled a chuckle behind his hand and Eddie rolled his eyes once more. Typical of her, really, to get in the way of whatever this was he and Richie were sharing. They stayed silent the rest of the period, Eddie lost in his own world as he convinced himself to tone it back a bit. Richie might have been playing good sport now, but no straight boy in their right mind wanted to be seen flirting with Eddie. And Richie… well, it wasn’t that Eddie liked to assume but as of now, he’d hardly given any evidence otherwise, and he really was in no place to hope. 

The rest of the period passed in stiltedness, and though Richie tried to start up conversations with poor jokes, they received a lack of reaction from Eddie every time, and by the time the bell was ringing,  Eddie was packing up and rushing out the door to catch up with Mike and Bev, leaving Richie to find Stan, complaining about how he had driven Eddie away as the smaller boy walked away with his friends. 

* * *

 

“Hey guys, this is Radio Rebel coming at you live from the underground. Hope everyone had an alright Wednesday. I, for one, had a crazy day. But can I just rant for a minute about how much I love my friends? Like… these past few months, the past semester really has been shitty. It feels like everything’s changing, but I have this amazing support system. I know I lecture a lot about what I think is right or wrong, but today I just wanted to stress how important it is to have people around you that build you up. I’m used to toxic people, but over the past couple of years I’ve met people who help me to be me. I guess what I’m trying to say is that we need to support each other. Not everyone has support systems, let alone the great one I have. If you see someone struggling, you know, talk to them.” Eddie pictured Greta, hair flip and all, imagined her cruel words to Bev and her blatant rudeness in English. “Be nice. Sounds simple, right? Elementary. It’s harder for some people, which I get, but try. Try to be nice to others, but mostly try to be nice to yourself.” With those words, Eddie shifted to select a song from his laptop, settling on a Smiths song he vaguely remembered from the early days of his childhood when his dad had still been around and when music was still allowed in his house. 

Across town, up in his bedroom with a window overlooking the farm he lived on, was Mike Hanlon. He was laying down, sketching absentmindedly as he listened to Rebel on the vintage-style boombox he’d gotten for his birthday, the kind that appears straight out of the 1980s but that could sync up via Bluetooth or cable to something more practical. 

(A joint gift from the Losers. He’d cried when he’d gotten it.)

He’d linked it to his phone, where he, like everyone else at the school, had the forum where Rebel broadcasted to saved. 

As Rebel spoke, Mike smiled, thinking of his own friends, how much he loved them, and how worried he was about many of them, particularly Eddie. 

Hm. It was fitting, Mike thought, that he was concerned about Eddie and thinking about it right when Rebel was on, because while Mike didn’t know anything for sure… there were certainly things that pointed him to his suspicions. Like the fact that Eddie never let him look at his music playlists. Like the fact that the day after Mike had mentioned liking The Cure, Radio Rebel had played Friday I’m in Love, then Lovesong, then Boys Don’t Cry. 

But Mike respected Rebel, even if they turned out not to be his best friend, and so did not and would not pry. It was their decision to stay anonymous, not his. However, somewhere across town, someone was having a hard time getting that idea into his head. 

Bill Denbrough was listening to Rebel too, his homework spread out around him in a semblance of an ode to responsibility. The mention of friends only served to get him thinking about his oldest friend, Eddie Kaspbrak. He’d been acting strange for a while, though if Bill was being honest with himself, Eddie had slowly been acting stranger and stranger since Junior year began. He’d been ducking out of after school meetups, had gotten oddly defensive every time Bill offered him help with anything, and bore the overall hallmarks of someone with a secret. 

More than anything, Bill was disappointed Eddie didn’t seem to trust him enough to tell him what was going on. Mike had a hunch about it too, though he hadn’t told Bill what it was. Bill shook his head, trying to dislodge the thoughts there. He was worried, and some stupid part of him was beginning to become angry. 

What was too horrible Bill’s first friend couldn’t even tell him? 

Ben and Bev, who were listening together, had similar qualms, but were allowing themselves to just rest and listen to Rebel, their favorite radio podcaster. The two of them loved listening to them together, Bev resting her head on Ben’s lap as Ben ran his hands through her hair. The two of them were undeniable close to each other, in a way different from the closeness they both shared with the rest of the Losers. They were true best friends to the core. 

They listened along to Rebel, smiling at each other at the mention of friendship, words settling between them that did not need to be said. 

It wasn’t only the Losers Club who were listening to Radio Rebel, though, far from it, but among the names and the plugged in earbuds and the lists upon lists of listeners, three stood out--Richie Tozier and Stan Uris, (who were sitting in Stan’s garage where they normally rehearsed, Stan rolling his eyes fondly at Richie’s star-struck smile as he stared off into space, letting the distinctly familiar words of Radio Rebel carry him away), and Eddie’s own aunt, Joyce. 

Now, Joyce was a very busy woman, but she liked to think she always took time out of her job to spend with her kids, and though one had left the nest, another had joined in his wake. She was trying her very hardest to bond with Eddie, had loved him as an aunt for all his life but was beginning to learn what it was like to love him as a mother. Not that Sonia hadn’t raised him, wasn’t who he considered his mother… but Joyce felt motherhood within her the same way she had upon meeting her youngest biological son’s ragtag group of half-broken-half-healing friends. 

E ddie though, seemed not to be adapting or connecting in the same way, and Joyce was worried. It was this worry that had pushed her to ask around at work about what the “young people these days” were into. The unanimous answer had been a home-produced podcasting DJ ‘Radio Rebel’, the chosen name of the anonymous DJ. Joyce had listened in to a few broadcasts since then, and while the advice was definitely aimed at people much younger than her, Radio Rebel was undeniably brilliant. 

What better time to have a bonding experience with her nephew than during the broadcast of every teen’s favorite radio DJ? 

I t was with that thought that Joyce climbed the stairs in their quaint two-story home to the door of Eddie’s room. She knocked, biting her lip nervously. There was silence from within the room for a moment, the same song that was playing in Joyce’s earbud slipping softly out from under the crack in Eddie door. 

_ He likes Radio Rebel then _ , Joyce thought gratefully as the sound of padding footsteps drew close to the door. Eddie opened it, his face set into an awkward smile. 

“Hi,” he said, his body angled so as to perhaps suggest Joyce wasn’t wanted in the room. She steeled herself though, set on trying to bond with her nephew ( _ son _ , whispered her traitorous brain, y _ ou love him like a son _ ). 

“Can I come in?” he moved away from the door, but it looked almost as if the motion hurt him. Joyce lightly stepped in, taking note of the vintage record player sitting in the corner and the stack of 80’s hits stacked next to it, as well as the art tacked on his walls that she’d been told in passing was from one of his best friends, Bill. 

“So,” she said lightly, gesturing to Eddie’s laptop which was still in the middle of lightly playing the same song drifting into one of Joyce’s ears, “Radio Rebel, huh?” 

Something akin to panic flashed in Eddie’s eyes, but it was gone before Joyce could look twice. Eddie smiled, something final and telling of the  end of a conversation. 

“Yup!” He cringed at himself and added, “Great show.” Eddie glanced over to his laptop. 43 seconds remaining in the song, he knew he needed to get Joyce out as soon as he possibly could. “Thanks for checking in.” 

Joyce paused for a moment, scanning Eddie’s face with a sort of maternal concern flickering about her features. 

“How was your day?” she asked, a small smile at the corners of her lips, sounding so genuine it hurt Eddie to hear. 

“Great,” he said, looking down, trying to keep his breath even. Now was not the time to have an anxiety attack. “Have any work to be doing? I’m sure you’re swamped.” 

Joyce tilted her head, wondering where she must have gone wrong. 

“I’m always swamped. I wanted to talk to you, though, see if you’re settling in all right.” 

The music faded into a lulling end, before the room went crushingly silent. Eddie closed his eyes, trying his hardest not to start hyperventilating or crying, whichever might have come first. 

“Huh,” Joyce said after a moment of silence. “That’s funny. Anything from your end? The music just-” Eddie’s actions took her next words right out of her mouth. He crossed quickly to his laptop where a headset Joyce had failed to notice before was resting, pulled it over his head, and moved the microphone to his mouth. Making a point of looking only at the ground, Eddie began to speak. 

"The Smiths never get old, do they? Here’s some Cure to lighten up your day. This is _Six Different Ways_ , going out to that support system I talked about earlier.” 

Eddie lowered the mic and slowly dragged his head up to meet his aunt’s eyes, which were blown wide with her realization. 

“You’re,” Joyce paused, seemingly unable to catch her breath, “You’re Radio Rebel?” Eddie smiled, wincing slightly but somewhat relieved to have it out in the open. 

“Surprise?” Eddie was trying to stop his brain from taking his anxiety and running with it, but he couldn’t get the images of what could happen out of his head.  _ Would he be in trouble? Would she want him to tell anyone? Had he revealed too much about himself to her accidentally under the guise of anonymity? Would- _

His panicked thoughts stopped abruptly as Joyce stood and pulled him into a light hug. 

“I’m so proud of you,” she said, her voice tight as if choked up and her face happy. This was the last thing Eddie had expected, but he felt warm all over, and thought, perhaps for the very first time, that maybe he didn’t have to hide within himself just to feel comfortable. 

' _I’m so proud of you’_ circled around in Eddie’s brain even after Joyce had left him to continue the broadcast, and Eddie couldn’t help but feel proud of himself too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Your kudos and comments give Joyce a cup of coffee and a break.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Leave a comment or come talk to me @ should-i-gay-or-should-go on Tumblr.


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